


Crashing

by secretagentfan



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 12:09:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17141495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentfan/pseuds/secretagentfan
Summary: Somehow today isn't the worst day of Eiji's life.Olympics AND Hospital AU written for misstchotchke.tumblr.com for the 2018 Banana Fish Secret Gift Exchange!





	Crashing

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! I had fun, hope you do too. : )

     Eiji is not allowed to have an “off” day but nonetheless, here he is: pole in hand, Olympic crowd screeching and cheering all around him, feeling like his soul has taken a few steps away from his body.

     Pressure and tension rises in his stomach before he forces it all out with a practiced exhale. His eyes scan down the runway and lock on the bar. He has to tilt his head upward slightly, even at this distance.

     _Visualize_ , _don’t just stare_ — he reminds himself— _See your jump, then reach it._ _This is_ _like usual, like at home._

     It’s only the first jump. Eiji just has to land it and he can find his rhythm, wherever it went.

     _Skill is for when talent fails_ , he thinks, and runs.

     Air floods his lungs and blood pulses in his ears. He is past natural instinct; pure muscular reflex pushes him forward. 30 meters. 20 meters. 10 meters. Eiji speeds up, pole slipping into the plant box as he leaps and is airborne— he tilts into the jump the pole bends and—

     He’s on his side, twisted in the plant box, wheezing. His leg— no something else is— a woman forces his hands away to press something against his ankle that makes him cry out, or rather would if his lungs could get any air in them. Arms wrap around his midsection and pull. Fingers in his hair, checking for damage? Someone’s saying something to him—something specific he should be listening to but he can’t hear anything over the sight of his foot angled wrong. His ankle.

     He’s placed in a stretcher, manhandled onto his back. His eyes catch the bar above him, untouched, but he’s on the wrong side. He has two more jumps but.

     Cameras are flashing, clicking.

     He covers his eyes with his arms.

* * *

 

     His coach visits first, encourages him to spend another night in the hospital, rest his ankle and head as much as possible. Then his family arrives followed by Ibe, and lastly the reporters.

     Well-intentioned, but clueless phrases like “could still heal” and “probably not career ending” are uttered by nearly every person who passes through his glass door; Eiji forces smiles and repeats the blanket sentiments when asked, even though he’s seconds away from sinking into the shame of it all.

     If there’s one thing that Eiji has learned in pole-vaulting, it’s that the body is unpredictable, even to those who know it best.

 

* * *

  

     The nurses are kind. Patient. Very American. They’ve clearly had a lot of training but Eiji wonders if they’ve ever learned properly about _personal space._ He has had more pillows brought to him and set up (unasked) and drinks offered (politely refused) than he can keep track of. He admires their enthusiasm, truly, but he’s exhausted.

     Eiji has made the transition between polite “I’m fine thank you” to the firmer “ _No_ , I am _really fine_ without help” even though he can hear his mother admonishing him for being ungrateful in his head.

     His neighbor is taking a slightly different approach to the nurses— if the yelling is anything to go by.

     He’s American as well, and Eiji can only make out about 25% of what he’s saying, not because the wall is blocking his words, but because the stranger speaks _incredibly_ fast English. It’s almost refreshing to hear _someone_ speak up, but Eiji worries about the nurses a little. Secretly it’s nice to worry about anything other than his ankle.

     Eventually, the complaints quiet as the nurses leave to go about their day, and Eiji is greeted with the familiar machine-thrumming silence of his hospital room. He exhales, presses his palms to his eyes—and just about jumps out of his skin when he feels a quiet grunt and thump right next to his head.

     Eiji yelps and looks at the wall his bed is pressed against. His neighbor must be moving around on the other side.

     A pause. Rustling.

     “Is someone there?” Eiji’s neighbor asks, through the wall.

     Eiji doesn’t answer, he holds very still. Another thump, more rustling. Silence.

     Eiji’s eyes drift to the stack of manga his little sister brought for him to read. He moves to pick one up, but gives up before he can pull it into his lap.

     For a long moment he just stares at his foot: wrapped in enough gauze and pressure tape that it’s hardly recognizable as a body part, much less something belonging to him.

     He can’t keep doing this.

     Eiji knocks on the wall.

     “Shit!” his neighbor startles and Eiji immediately stops knocking.

     “Sorry,” he offers reflexively, hand still hovering uselessly in the air. “I am here. To answer your question.”

     “Obviously. Shit. My bad. I moved the bed against the wall so the nurses can’t ogle me from the hallway. Didn’t realize there was another person next to me. These walls are _thin_.”

     Eiji blinks. “That is dangerous, isn’t it?”

     “It’s fine, there’s still a camera on me, and I’m hooked up to all the machines and IV still. They can’t complain. Much, anyway.”

     “Machines and IV? Are you badly hurt?”

     “I’ll be fine. Someone sabotaged my event. You’re here too, I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

     Eiji’s relieved his neighbor can’t see the incredulous face he’s making. “Sabotage???”

     “Guess not,” his neighbor replies with such aggressive nonchalance Eiji sputters. “You’re here for the Olympics too, right? You have an accent. What event?”

     Eiji frankly, is still stuck on the casual way his neighbor brought up _sabotage_ , but he makes himself answer.

     “Pole-vault.”

     “Huh. That’s impressive. How does it feel?”

     “Like flying,” Eiji answers. It’s his usual response after all—but the words lock in his throat. “It’s…ah…” He stumbles, eyes glued to his foot. He wracks his brain for an articulate way to get out of continuing, but both English and Japanese tangle in his head.

     “Ah. That was a shit question for someone in a hospital, I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

     “Thank you,” Eiji says, surprised by his consideration. His neighbor waves it off with a noncommittal sound-- followed by rustling.

     Eiji waits. The rustling continues. A few curses are added to the mix, as well as some muffled English.

     “Are…you okay?” Eiji asks slowly.

     “Sorry. It’s the painkillers. I can’t _feel_ shit. I asked them not to sedate me, but they must have given me a round or ten while I was out. I hate this feeling. I’d much rather feel the ache than nothing.”

   “I agree,” Eiji replies. “I feel the same way.”

     _He must really be hurt,_ Eiji realizes. _No wonder he’s trying to distract himself._

     Eiji makes himself speak up. “What was your event? I want to know about it.”

     His neighbor likely catches on at Eiji’s attempt to pull his focus judging by the slow, careful way he announces, “Modern pentathlon.”

     Eiji sits up reflexively, and obviously his neighbor hears him, because that brings out a quiet laugh.

     “Are you that impressed?”

     “Yes! Modern pentathlon is very hard, you must use lots of different skills! That _is_ impressive!”

     “No more impressive than flying.”

     Eiji rolls his eyes. “I don’t fly, I jump. You jump too, just differently.”

     “The horse does all the work, doesn’t count,” his neighbor argues.

     Eiji grunts. “Stubborn. That is like blaming the pole for my vault. Does the horse fire your gun too, or swim?”

     “Fair enough,” his neighbor laughs again, then pauses. Eiji realizes he’s staring at the ceiling waiting for a reply, and rubs his face at how silly they must look, talking through the wall like this.

     “I’m Ash, by the way.”

     _Oh._ Eiji thinks, articulately. He tries to think of any American athlete with this name, but he’s not familiar enough with the modern pentathlon to recognize it.

     “I am Eiji, it is nice to meet you, Ash.”

     “That’s Japanese, right?”

     Eiji nods, and then mentally kicks himself. Wall. “Yes.”

     “Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Eiji.”

 

* * *

   

     It’s the middle of the night when Eiji hears Ash’s now-familiar rustling again. A heavy sigh, quickly stifled.

     _He’s trying not to wake me up,_ Eiji thinks smile only slightly bitter. _That would be nice if I were sleeping._

     He knocks the wall once. Gently.

    Ash knocks back.

      “Did I wake you?” Ash’s voice is exhausted, just this side of breathless. A nightmare?

      “No, I wasn’t sleeping.”

     _Are you in pain?_ He wants to ask, but he gets the feeling Ash wouldn’t tell him even if he was.

     “Can you see out your window?” Eiji asks instead. He hears Ash rustle a bit in response.

      “Yeah, why? It’s just forest and parking lot.”

      “I have been looking out mine, but it is blocked by the hospital sign. Not very interesting.”

     Ash snorts, and Eiji hears him rustle again. Is he laying down? Sitting up?

      “Well, mine’s not much better. There are about…15 trees all in a row. Someone trimmed them recently. The parking lot. Someone parked a nice yellow Lamborghini, so we know where the Olympic sponsor is. Unless that was you.”

     Eiji opens his eyes, unaware that he had shut them just in time to cough indignantly. “I would buy a better color.”

     Ash laughs. “That’s your only complaint? Noted.”

      “I do not mind yellow, but on a car it is…is…”

      “Loud?” Ash offers.

      “Loud,” Eiji agrees.

     Silence spreads between them. Eiji sinks down properly in his bed again, wondering if he’ll finally get some rest.

      “Hey Eiji,” Ash asks, voice low.

      “Yes?”

     “You want to see?”

     Eiji blinks. “Eh?”

      “My window. The door’s unlocked. I can’t leave my IV, but you could come over here, if you want.”

     Eiji doesn’t say anything, staring at the cast on his foot. His eyes flick to the wheelchair a nurse left near his bed with a smile and a ‘just call if you want to go for a walk’.

      “Eiji?” Ash asks again.

     Something surges in his stomach— excitement, adrenaline...curiosity.

      “One moment, Ash.”

      “Huh?”

     Very carefully, Eiji raises his foot out of the sling and rests it on the bed. He takes a deep breath, reaching out with his other leg to pull the wheelchair closer. It slips back against the wall. Eiji curses. He lays on his back to get a better angle, a wider reach.

    “Eiji?”

      “Shh Ash. I am focusing.”

     He nudges the wheelchair closer with his toe until he can grip it properly with his outstretched hand and pull it in the rest of the way. _Yes._ He leans down and tugs the brake, locking it in place.

     “Focusing on…what? Hey, what?”

     Now for the easy part… Eiji lifts himself out of bed using only his arms and plops himself into the chair with an ‘oof’. For a heart-stopping second, it rocks back with his weight and Eiji regrets every decision that led him to this point, but he leans forward to counter and it levels out.

      “Eiji?” Ash asks again, and Eiji laughs breathlessly, victorious. He feels lighter than he has since the day he was carried into the hospital. He wipes some sweat from his forehead and unlocks the break. He slides forward, backward. Everything’s in order.

      “I am heading over, Ash.”

 

* * *

 

 

     Ash really did move his bed out of view of the glass door. Eiji has to pull it open before he can really see what he looks like.

   The moonlight, or maybe it’s just light from the parking lot outside, forces most of Ash into silhouette. He’s in hospital clothes, like Eiji, and his legs are pulled halfway to the bandages that crisscross across his chest—a broken rib possibly—or even more than one. An IV sticks out of his left wrist.

     But it is Ash’s blonde hair that stands out more than his injuries: haloed by the light, it’s messy and unkempt— boyish even.

     _With hair like that, he really is American._ Eiji thinks, trying not to stare. Another bandage is wrapped around his forehead, and he has a long scrape on his cheek, covered with a piece of cotton and gauze.

      “Eiji,” Ash says, blinking.

      “Hello Ash,” Eiji replies, grinning.

     Ash stares. His eyes are bright and green, the kind of green found in nature, not in humans. Eiji swallows—in time for Ash to laugh at him.

      “What the hell happened to you?” Ash goads, glancing Eiji over. “You look like a mummy.”

     Eiji jerks in his seat. “A mummy!? Why not look in a mirror Ash? If I am a mummy, what does that make you? King mummy?”

      “A pharaoh, you mean.”

      “I am leaving.”

      “Hey—!” Ash grunts, and then holds the bandages on his chest. Eiji immediately turns back around, only to be greeted by a confident grin.

      “Got you.”

     Eiji flushes, turning away from Ash, nose in the air. Ash doesn’t seem to care; he examines Eiji’s wheelchair.

      “Hey, Eiji. How did you get in that without calling the nurse?”

     Eiji keeps his nose where it is. Hmph. “Same way you moved your bed with your injuries.”

     “Fair enough,” Ash replies, perfectly casual, and that’s enough to get a curious glance out of Eiji.

     Eiji wheels over, so he’s sitting at Ash’s bedside. He looks out the window. About 15 trees. A yellow Lamborghini. Ash was right.

      “There it is,” Ash says, also looking at the window.

      “There it is,” Eiji repeats. “Like one of your school buses.”

     Ash laughs loudly, and winces in a way that makes Eiji wonder if his earlier grunt was really faked. His hand rests on his bandaged stomach. Eiji reaches out, on impulse, but isn’t sure what to do. His hand awkwardly hovers between them.

     Up close like this, Eiji can see the sweat beading just under Ash’s bandaged forehead. Whatever “sabotage” happened…it clearly was meant to do some real damage.

      “You can feel again,” he blurts.

      “What?”

      “Your pain killers. They must have worn off.”

     “Guess so,” Ash says, and then brushes Eiji’s hovering hand with his own. His touch is just this side of clammy, but he seems to recognize sensation. He lowers his hand.

      “What happened?” Eiji asks.

      “Short story is I fell off a horse. Long story—“

      “I know this part. You think someone sabotaged you?”

      “Pretty much. I have theories, but no actual proof yet.”

     Eiji opens his mouth to ask more questions, but something in Ash’s gaze stops him. A distance there that wasn’t there before. He’s not engaged in this conversation, or is trying very hard not to be. Eiji wants to know, but…he changes the subject.

      “You do not look like I imagined you.”

     Ash’s gaze returns to his. He blinks once, confused, but his eyes are relieved. Eiji knows he made the right decision.

      “Yeah?” Ash asks. “What were you picturing?”

      “Harrison Ford.”

      “What?”

      “You were American and forceful! So is Harrison Ford.”

      “Are all forceful Americans _Harrison Ford_?”

      “Yes.” Eiji confirms, without hesitation.

     Ash laughs, loud and honest— like his wounds don’t even matter anymore. Eiji finds himself joining him. His entire body feels warm. A laugh like this doesn’t belong in a hospital— doesn’t belong after the worst injury of Eiji’s career, on the worst day of his life—but it comes anyway, unbidden, effortlessly.

      “Who did you picture for me?” Eiji finds himself asking.

      “Honestly?” Ash rubs his neck with his right arm—Eiji notices it is bandaged as well, all the way up his shoulder. “Someone Japanese.”

    “Yes! Who?”

     Ash coughs into his arm. “…No one specifically. Just someone…Japanese.”

     If Eiji could stand, he would. He crosses his arms instead, fixing Ash with the heaviest stare he can manage. “Boring!”

      “What?” Ash blinks.

      “That is so boring, Ash!”

      “You called me Harrison Ford!”

      “Who is a very exciting person! You stereotyped!”

      “I don’t know what you expected. It’s better than Mr. Miyagi, right?”

      “In _Karate Kid!?_ He is old!”

     Ash rubs his nose. “You could have been.”

     Eiji’s jaw drops. Ash backpedals.

      “It doesn’t matter, does it? I see you now, and you see me. I’m not Harrison Ford—“

      “Definitely not!” Eiji vehemently agrees. Ash shoots him a look as if to say ‘hey’, but continues.

      “We’re just who we are.”

     This satisfies Eiji. He relaxes back into his wheelchair and nods, smiling lightly. Ash leans back into his pillows, mirroring him. There are clearly too many, and he tosses one to Eiji, mumbling something about ‘damn nurses’.

     Eiji quickly puts the pillow behind his head and yawns, looking at the off-white hospital ceiling.

      “If you’re tired Eiji, you can go back to your room.”

      “This is fine,” Eiji mumbles. “If you do not mind.”

     “I’ll be up for a while. Will that bother you?”

      “I will be too. I do not feel much like sleeping tonight.”

     Eiji yawns, but does not shut his eyes. Ash nods, slowly.

     “In that case,” he offers, scooting over on the bed slightly. He points at Eiji’s ankle. “You should probably elevate that.”

     “Is it okay?” Eiji hesitates, but Ash only shrugs.

     “There’s room. Might as well.”

     Eiji offers Ash one final glance, before looking back at his foot. He leans down, locking the wheels on his chair, and very carefully lifts his ankle out to rest next to Ash on the bed.

     “Thank you,” Eiji mumbles. He’s not entirely sure what the thank you specifically is for at this point, but Ash seems to understand, nodding gently.

     “Stay as long as you want.”

     Eiji thinks he will.


End file.
